Measureable

Some things in life are, you know.

Measurable.

Like whether or not a couch will, in fact, fit in the space you so desperately want it to.

The length of your legs.

The amount of wine and good stories you've shared with friends.

The number of random hairs that seem to be sporadically appearing on my chin.

(yeah, that's a whole other post.)

Ahem.

But I just can't seem to come to terms with the ole ruler or in my case tape if you will.

I just don't work that way.

For as long as I can remember, I never have.

When I was little, I would play for hours making up baton dance routines.

I maneuvered triple turns-and-catches with ease.

I could cartwheel-and-catch, keep the beat to the music, and put on shows for all the neighbors peering secretly out their windows.

But when mom put me in baton class after seeing some promise of talent...

It was all "you gotta twirl with the right hand not the left" and "you can't twirl to music if you don't count it off"....

And I checked out.

When I taught, I didn't like giving grades.

I did, of course.

But words of affirmation and redirection, I liked so much better.

I was the teacher that actually wanted more space on the comment section on the back of the report card.

And then there's fashion.

Oh yes, I gawk and gander at what's new and hip.

But like my baton in the air, my spins, twirls, and twists on outfit combos might lead one to believe I am akin to Punky Brewster.

I am okay with stepping outside of the box and actually feel all-the-more-beautiful when I do.

And then with sewing...

Well, I taught myself.

Not that mom didn't try her hardest to teach me when I was younger.

It was just all those numbers and pattern templates were way too intimidating.

So I've only been sewing for almost 4 years.

I even have my own very-peculiar-to-most-yet-quite-accurate-to-me measurement system.

It works quite well, I like to think.

And it seems there are more matters of the heart as of late that just aren't measurable to me.

the love for my boys

the commitment to "our best" to my husband

the wonderment of learning

the art in growing

the time worth too much for wasting

the pace Kenny and I choose for our family for setting

the seasons in the making

the joy of creating

Matters too rich and too deep to just find security in one specific inch or notch.

And matters much too fun to leave for someone else to do.

Hmmm.

I think it's time I throw my baton in the air for a triple-turn-and-catch.

No count offs.

And with my left hand too.

Feeling the groove of the music, I'll catch it in my own style.

And who cares if those neighbors are peering secretly out their windows.

That's what smiles are for.

.mac :)